


Escalation of Commitment

by lynne_monstr



Category: Leverage
Genre: Humor, Messing with the Leverage team is not a smart life choice, Mild Sexual Content, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 06:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2841635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynne_monstr/pseuds/lynne_monstr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After several bumbling attempts by the government to recruit him back into service, Eliot’s left feeling insulted, one of Hardison’s action figures is forced to make the ultimate sacrifice, and Parker intends to show whoever’s in charge exactly why it’s a bad idea to touch her rappelling gear. </p><p>In other words, just another day at the office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escalation of Commitment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyjax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyjax/gifts).



> Um...this is probably not at all where you were going with this particular prompt but I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Happy Holidays, Ladyjax!

The attack came while he was closing up for the night. One moment Eliot was tidying up the Brew Pub and the next he was surrounded by black-clad men on silent feet all pointing guns at him. There was only one thing to do at that point, and so with a roll of his eyes and a casual, “Hey boys, what’s up,” the fight was on.

It didn’t last long.

And really, Eliot should’ve known it would be this way. Because when did he ever get peace and quiet round the holidays? No, what he got was bar fights and broken bottles and a bruise on his jaw for trying to talk first and throw punches later.

Grabbing an ice cold beer from behind the bar and pressing it to his face, he made his way to the back room where he left Hardison standing guard. None of the half dozen men sitting tied up in the corner acknowledged his presence as he entered. Probably because they were all unconscious, courtesy of their brief but violent meeting with his fist. And in one case, a half empty bottle of wine that he was still kicking himself for using. Damn waste of a good vintage.

A quick search revealed a distinct lack of identification, but the stocky builds and close cropped hair, combined with their familiar fighting styles practically screamed Army.

Just like the last ones.

Over by the far wall, Hardison was in a world of his own, the fingers of one hand flying over a small tablet computer held in the other. He looked up as Eliot finished rifling through the last of the men’s clothes, expression darkening like the angry clouds of a gathering storm. “Oh, it’s so on,” he announced, making his way over to Eliot. “Those punks broke my vintage Uhura action figure when they busted in.” He looked mournfully in the direction of his office. “Who does that, man? Just ain’t right!”

Eliot wasn’t sure which of Hardison’s little toys had been violated, but knew better than to ask. Besides, he had his own issue with this attack. “This is the fourth team in two weeks,” he noted. “And they’re not even good teams! If Uncle Sam here wants me back in his pocket so bad, least he can do it send some half competent people for our little chat. Instead, I get the clown parade over there.” He narrowed his eyes at the men on the floor. “Frankly, I’m insulted.”

“There, there, man.” Hardison placed a hand on his bicep. “I’m sure they’ll start sending the badass ones before they give up. These dudes are probably like, a warmup or something.”

The words sadly fell on deaf ears as Eliot frowned at his beer with a muttered, “Not even special forces.”

“You sure your army friend’s not the one behind this? Vance? I remember he didn’t seem too happy about you brushing him off back in D.C.”

Eliot shook his head. Then had to shake it again as a piece of hair flew into his eye. Might be time to go short again. “Nah, this ain’t Vance’s style. If he really wanted to make me his date to the prom, he’d do it right. Or do it himself. This is probably some paper pushing twerp. I’ve seen plenty of their type around; more ambitions than brains. It’ll taper off eventually.” Eliot sighed and took a swig of his beer before returning it to his aching jaw. “Still no excuse for shoddy soldiers, though. I swear, man—”

The sound of the door slamming open interrupted Eliot’s tirade before he could really get going.

Parker stomped into the room, cold rage scrawled across her face. Her tightly pulled back ponytail proclaimed her ready for war.

“They touched my favorite rig,” she said with a glower. “No one touches my favorite rig.”

“Or tries to kidnap Eliot,” Hardison reminded her.

She wrinkled her nose. “Does it count if they’re not very good at trying to kidnap Eliot?”

It was a valid question, and they both looked at him with curious gazes. Eliot shrugged. “Sure, we’ll count it.”

So that settled it. Parker walked up to where he and Hardison stood and shouldered her way between them to sling an arm around both their shoulders. “They want war, we’ll give them war.”

Hardison rubbed his hands together with glee. “Oh, I have so many new ideas to try out. Did you know that the indoor plumbing controls of many modern buildings are networked?”

Visions of the entire US government being brought to its knees flitted through Eliot’s head. He needed to stop this before it got out of hand. “Nothing too bad, though,” he said. “So far they’ve just been annoying and incompetent.”

“So we’ll do the same,” Hardison chimed in. Then he paused. “Without the…you know, being incompetent part, that is.”

“So, just annoying, huh. Shouldn’t be a problem for you,” Eliot replied, shooting Hardison a grin to take the sting out of the words.

Hardison thumped his chest with his free hand. “That hurts. Right in the heart, it hurts me.” But he was smiling, too, as he said it.

“Right,” Parker agreed, bringing them back on track. “Let’s do this.”

So yeah, that’s how they ended up in a prank war with the Pentagon.

* * *

Eliot’s phone rang. It was more than a little annoying because, well, Eliot was kind of busy at the moment. Whoever was calling was just going to have to wait.

Except the damn thing kept going. Four rings, five, six, and dammit this was getting real old real fast. Stupid phone probably had a brain of its own. There was no other explanation for how it consistently chose the worst moments to interrupt him. He might’ve even accused Hardison of writing some kind of program to mess with him, but for once the hacker had an airtight alibi.

Namely, Eliot’s hands down his pants.

Well, one of Eliot’s hands. The other was fiddling with opening the front door and hell if he was moving either one of them to answer a telephone with delusions of grandeur. Not when Hardison was practically clinging to him, face pressed into the crook of Eliot’s shoulder in a half-hearted attempt to keep it down for the neighbors. The ringing stopped just as the lock clicked open, and he released an irritated breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. They’d barely made it two steps into the top floor apartment when the shrill noise started up again. With a growl, Eliot yanked the thing from his pocket, fully prepared to rip out the battery and damn the consequences.

And froze at the name on the display.

Hardison gave an impatient whine when Eliot pulled away to take the call with a growled, “What?”

“Spencer, this has to stop.”

“I’m, uh, kinda busy at the moment.”

“Well get un-busy,” Vance barked.

It must have been loud enough to carry over, because with a snicker, Hardison leaned into Eliot’s space with a muttered. “How about un _dressed_ ,” Thankfully that particular pearl of wisdom was directed at the ear that didn’t have a phone pressed to it.

“Best idea I’ve heard all day,” Eliot mumbled under his breath. Hardison must have agreed, because he took a step back from Eliot and started working at the buttons of his own shirt, letting it slide to the floor when he was done. Eliot wasn’t shy about staring.

“What? Spencer, what the hell is going on over there!”

“Nothin'. Listen, this is kind of a bad time so I’m gonna keep it short.” Eliot stepped out of his jeans as he spoke, half hopping from one foot to the other to kick them aside as he let Hardison steer them towards the nearest horizontal surface. Namely, the living room couch. Because hey, Eliot might not be a tech genius but he could multitask with the best of them. “You stop sending military boys after me and we’ll stop embarrassing everyone associated with this little project of yours.”

“It’s not my project and you know it. I told you, my hands are tied. You’re damn lucky I like you enough to risk my ass _and_ my job passing intel to you and your people. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Which sure, he had a point. It was nice to get a heads up about when he could expect the next round of government goon-squads, as he’d taken to calling them, but still. “Lucky? Try _you owe me for D.C._ ” Eliot sucked in a breath as Hardison buried his hands under his t-shirt to scrape fingers down his chest. “How many times—” he captured the wandering hand by the wrist before it could dip under the waistband of his boxers, “—do I have to tell you people? I ain’t working for anyone anymore. Including you.”

Lips on his neck stole his concentration, and he missed whatever Vance had to say in return. So he didn’t feel too bad about checking out of the conversation long enough to lift his arms over his head to let Hardison peel his shirt off. Taking the last couple steps towards the couch, he flopped down across it, pulling Hardison along with him for a much needed kiss.

When the three of them first became a thing, it was a bit of a rocky start all around, each of them figuring out where they fit into the whole. Back then, Hardison kissed like it was a competition. Like he had to out-man Eliot, or prove himself, or whatever. But like anything, practice made perfect, and damn did they have one hell of a good time practicing. And now—now he kissed Eliot like he was one of his precious computer systems, like he couldn’t wait to worm his way in and lay him bare. Eliot, for his part, was a-okay with that, and had some plans of his own for how this particular afternoon was going to end up.

Vaguely, he was aware of fingers lightly stroking down the side of his neck. Those same fingers that created their fake aliases and covered their tracks and cracked the most sophisticated systems in the world. They trailed lower as Eliot opened his mouth into the kiss, slipping down towards—

“Spencer. SPENCER!”

The annoying noise resolved itself into words and Eliot groaned into the kiss, slumping back against the couch. Hardison seemed to understand and pulled away. But not before catching Eliot’s lower lip between his teeth for a gentle bite. It was enough to almost make Eliot say screw it and ignore the damn phone entirely. Instead, he let Hardison go and reluctantly raised the phone back to his ear. “This better be good.”

“You know, Spencer, I didn’t think anything could be more excruciatingly painful than the six weeks we spent together in prison in North Korea. But listening to you get some action just proved me wrong. Thanks.”

Eliot closed his eyes and bit back a few choice words. “You think you’re funny but you’re not. Get to the point already.”

“You need to keep that team of yours on a leash,” Vance snapped, and wasn’t that a mental sight he didn’t want to think too closely on. “Do you have any idea how many people you three lovebirds are pissing off with these stunts of yours.”

As a matter of fact, he did. Ever since Parker’s declaration of war, they’d been busy. It hadn’t taken Hardison long to find the person campaigning for Eliot’s “recruitment.” (As Eliot suspected, it was some low level bureaucrat trying to build himself a little empire.) To say they’d made life somewhat uncomfortable for all parties involved was a bit of an understatement.

Across the whole of D.C., various officials were discovering files going missing for days only to turn up in a completely different part of the network; overhead lights flickering to the tune of obscene phrases painstakingly spelled out in Morse code; and on one memorable occasion there was the catastrophe hinted at in the highest levels of internal memos only as _the singing strip telegram incident_. Eliot was particularly proud of that last one, if he did say so himself.

He bit back a laugh. “I don’t know what sorta stunts you’re talking abo—OH—”

He almost jumped straight off the couch as Hardison’s mouth latched on to his inner thigh with the kind of enthusiasm that ought to be illegal. Slamming a hand over the receiver, he glared down at where six plus feet of impatient, half-dressed hacker happily knelt between his legs. A mouthed _Sorry,_ and a sheepish shrug were all he got in return. In other words, not looking a damn sight sorry at all.

And yeah, Eliot got it. It was kind of bad form to take a phone call in what was supposed to be a private moment. But come on, Eliot had government lackeys alternating between trying to recruit him and trying to kidnap him. So when one of the few guys on his side called, Eliot answered.

But as Hardison lowered his head to mouth at Eliot through the fabric of his underwear, he decided a change in strategy might be in order. No plan survived first contact with the opposition, and all.

Decision made, he brought the phone back to his ear. “Good chat, Vance. We’ll talk later.”

“Spencer! Don’t you dare—“

Whatever Vance said next was lost as Eliot ended the call and tossed the phone to the ground to join the rest of their clothes.

A low chuckle sounded as Hardison sat back on his knees, looking down at him with approval. He ran a hand up Eliot’s leg. ”Guess Vance’s lackeys got my little present.”

“They’re not Vance’s lackeys.”

“Pah. Technicalities.”

Eliot shifted to press a knee between Hardison’s legs, following up with a swipe of his thumb along the sharp jut of his hip just above his jeans. “What’d you do?”

It took a moment of heavy breathing for Hardison to pull himself together enough to speak. But when he did, it was with his usual smugness of a job well done. “Sent a thousand dildos to the Pentagon. Care of one General Morris.”

Eliot hated to burst his bubble but, “You do realize they screen the mail there, right? No way your little delivery made it through.”

“Eliot man, when you gonna learn. When I send mail, I _send mail_ , you hear? It got through.” With that, he kissed a line up Eliot’s stomach, clambering upright to straddle his waist. Eliot let himself be pressed into the cushions, hands gripping Hardison’s hips to keep him in place.

A kiss on his neck. Another on his jawline, right over the place where a bruise had just finished healing. Breath hitching, he angled his head to the side, hips grinding up for more.

All of a sudden Hardison stopped, making Eliot bite hard into his own lip to keep from making a noise he’d be embarrassed about later. “What?” he asked, still breathing hard. Damn it, if this was some kind of revenge for taking that phone call he was gonna…

“That was last week, man.”

It took Eliot a second to switch gears. The prank. Hardison’s prank was last week. “So?”

“So, didn’t Vance already call you to bitch about that one? Which means—”

The pieces clicked into place all at once.

“Parker,” they both finished.

The slap of feet hitting the ground caught both their attentions at the same time. Eliot didn’t startle, and that alone told him exactly who was in their living room. Only one person could sneak up on him and not cause him to automatically lash out on the attack.

Hardison, on the other hand, almost tumbled off the couch from his place astride Eliot. Probably would have, if Eliot’s hands hadn’t still been bracketing his hips. “Damn woman, a little warning next time!”

Parker approached the couch, eyes raking over them in the same way she counted her money and her jewels. “You called my name. Was I not supposed to come down?”

Parker liked to watch them almost as much as she liked to join in, so her literally falling from the ceiling was practically tradition by now, Eliot figured. “Of course you were, darling. Plenty of room for one more.”

“What he said. Now stop wasting daylight and get over here, girl!” Shifting to make room on the couch, Hardison held out a hand. With a smile, Parker launched herself into their arms.

It didn’t escape Eliot’s notice that she was dressed for work in head-to-toe black. Which was more than enough confirmation that whatever Vance had been yelling about, he and Hardison were correct in their thinking of who was responsible. But that was a thought for later. Right now his two favorite people were in the room. One of them was half dressed and the other was about to be, if he had any say in the matter. Vance could wait.

* * *

Sometime after they’d all showered and collapsed into bed in a sleepy and sated heap, Eliot padded over to the kitchen to start on dinner. Cooking always helped clear his mind and today was no exception. It was as he was chopping kalamata olives that Parker came in, her hair mused and a sleepy grin stretched across her face. Wordlessly, she perched on one of the bar stools opposite the large island that served as his work space.

For the next couple minutes the only sound was the steady thud of his knife against the cutting board and the sizzle of chicken browning in the pan. Once the olives were chopped, he swept them into a bowl and started working on the basil, pulling the leaves off the stems and stacking them up, one by one until he had enough.

He didn’t look up or pause in his movements as he said, “I finished my conversation with Vance earlier. He said there was an attack here in Portland. One of the generals he tends to cross paths with.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Parker shrug. “So?”

“That was what you were up to before, right?” There was no answer and he took advantage of the silence to roll the stack of basil leaves and set it on the cutting board seam-side down. He started slicing, a nice even chiffonade. When he was done, he set the knife aside and looked up. ”Parker, you can’t—you can’t just do that.”

Parker crossed her arms. “Why not? You hit people all the time.”

“Not three star generals."

“That’s not true. Hardison told me all about that job in Japan when you—”

“That doesn’t count,” Eliot replied. “He was a bad man.”

“So was this one.” Parker leaned forward in her seat, bracing both hands on the counter-top. “He knows that they’re sending people after you. And so far they haven’t been a problem but what if one of them gets lucky? This needs to stop!” Parker stopped for breath, chest heaving.

She was worried, Eliot realized, guilt worming its way inside his chest. He reached an arm across the table to rest his hand on top of hers. “Alright,” he said, softly. “We’ll put an end to this.”

Parker gave his fingers a squeeze. Like the first rays of sunshine, a smile peeked out from corner of her lips. “Anyway,” she continued, “the general guy wasn’t hurt. Just knocked unconscious for a couple hours. Long enough for the dye to set. And for the record, _I_ didn’t attack him, I just supervised.”

Eliot looked at the ceiling for strength. “You ordered the hit, that makes you the one responsible.”

Hardison chose that moment to appear in the kitchen. He sidled up to Parker, casting an incredulous glance at them both. “The dye? The hit? What the hell, Parker!”

“It wasn’t a hit. Eliot’s just being dramatic.”

Eliot let out a growl of frustration. “The hit, the job, whatever. Same difference.”

“What’d you do, Parker?”

Parker grabbed one of Hardison’s many tablet computers from across the counter and fiddled with it until she apparently found what she was looking for, and passed it over. Eliot didn’t need to see the display to know what Hardison was looking at. He’d already got the details from Vance.

“Pink Haired General Makes Waves At Energy Conference, Claims Abduction,” Hardison read aloud. He let out a low whistle. “Damn, girl. Do I even want to know how you pulled this off?”

Parker smiled. “A lot of Chloroform and a little bit of hair dye goes a long way.” She paused, letting out a soft snort that shouldn’t have been as endearing as it was. “I learned that from Sophie.”

Eliot coughed. “Pretty sure she didn’t mean it quite like that, sweetheart.”

Then he reconsidered. Probably best not to put money on that.

Putting the thought aside, he turned his attention to more immediate matters. Like not overcooking the chicken. Removing it from the pan, he set it aside and threw in the olives, basil, garlic, and the last of homemade marinara sauce still in the fridge from their last victory dinner.

They lapsed into silence as Eliot stirred it at all together, turning his attention back to the food as the other two watched.

As it turned out, publicly humiliating a General was a pretty effective means of getting the government to leave them alone. According to Vance’s latest report, the bureaucrat pulling the strings had been quickly and quietly reassigned. Guess they figured Eliot Spencer was more trouble that he was worth, he thought with more than a little satisfaction.

“That was my plan all along,” Parker claimed. She tried to sneak a spoon past Eliot into the sauce simmering on the stove, but Eliot batted her hand away before she could make contact. Defeated, she slunk back to the bar stool area. He’d give it another three to four minutes before she tried again.

Eliot scoffed. “Sure it was. Did you even know Morris had oversight on that particular project, or did you just guess?”

“I did,” Hardison piped up, heading to the fridge to pour himself a glass of orange soda. He wiggled his fingers as he retook his seat. “Age of the—”

Parker shut him up by lunging out of her seat and covering his mouth with her own.

And wasn’t that a handy trick. Eliot made a note to remember that.

After some initial squeaking and almost falling off his stool, Hardison got his head in the game and pulled her onto his lap, deepening the kiss and sliding his hands under her shirt. The orange soda sat lonely and untouched on the counter.

For the moment, Eliot simply watched them, letting the sights and smells of home wrap around him.

Just a few short years back he’d have said that what he had going on here was impossible. He wasn’t the settling type, and home was a concept so foreign he’d almost forgotten what it felt like. The truth of it was, he hadn’t even realized he’d been searching when everything he ever wanted practically up and landed straight into his lap. But against all odds, here it was.

Looking around, he couldn’t think of a thing he’d change. A bigger pantry, maybe, or one of those dual temperature wine refrigerators, but everything worth having was right here in front of him. Add to that, the government was off his back, Vance was in the clear, and the puttanesca sauce was shaping up to be some of his best. And he had people to share it all with.

Turning the heat down and covering the sauce, he went to join them.


End file.
